Miles Apart - Sam Kiszka x OC fanfic

CHAPTER 25: THE DREADED EX PART II

fucking god i hate santana
ALSO, about ten-ish chapters more and the book will be done. depending on how yall react to the ending, how would we feel about a sequel? or should i just stick to writing the jake fic?
tw: insinuation of drug use
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The plane ride was shorter than expected, nearing only 4 hours rather than 5 which I was extremely grateful for. I was exhausted the entire trip, though when my best friends were napping on each other's shoulders, I found myself wide awake. I couldn't rest when I knew Sam was out there slowly killing himself. I just didn't get it. Why would he do this to himself? He has everything; fame, money, family. Why would he feel the need to put that shit into his body? Why would he get back with Santana when she's been nothing but terrible to him? Why is he fucking up everything he has; everything we have?

I knew I was being selfish again; it seemed to be a common occurrence lately, but I honestly couldn't care less. Altruism wasn't going to get me anywhere in terms of helping Sam. If I didn't take action to help him based on my need for him, I wouldn't be taking action to help him at all.

Maybe love is more motivating than I thought.

"Hey," Jake said, snapping me out of my thoughts, "you okay back there?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just tired," I responded, putting my headphones in and letting my head fall against the window of our rental car. The trip from the airport to their hotel was short, but I was using every second of it to mentally prepare myself for whatever I was about to walk in on. I let my playlist from high school buzz through my ears as I closed my eyes, Going to California playing once more. This song was slowly starting to haunt me. Every time it played, something happened with Sam. Maybe it was the universe's take on irony.

"Bel, we're here," Lilli said, turning around to gently shake me awake. I hadn't even realized I'd fallen asleep, but based on how dazed I felt, I figured I probably needed it.

I opened the door and stepped out of the car. Jake and Lilli stayed seated and when I glanced back at them, they simply looked away from me.

"Are you guys not coming?" I asked, fear coursing through my veins. Jake shook his head and waved me over to the driver's side so he could talk to me.

"He's not going to listen to me, Bel. Lilli has called him about a million times, even Josh tried to talk to him. He won't listen. You've gotta do this alone."

"Jake, I- What if Santanas there? She threatened to get me fired, I don't doubt she'd do some shit like that again," I rambled, leaning down to lean on the car frame.

"She doesn't hold nearly as much power as she says she does. She's just one person, okay? She can't hurt you, but she can -and is- hurting Sam. I know you love him, Bella. Do this for him," Jake pleaded, holding my jaw between his hands. I hesitantly nodded, too scared to say anything back.

Jake was right; someone had to at least try to help him, and I was probably the only person he'd listen to. He placed a small kiss on my forehead, reassuring me it was going to be okay.

"Room 323," he sadly smiled, handing me the hotel room keys.

"I love you, Bel. Call us if you need to, okay?" Lilli said, remorse dripping from her tone. I smiled and blew her a small kiss as they drove off, suddenly feeling very small in the looming presence of the Roosevelt hotel. I took a deep breath and took the first step closer to Sam, jogging across the street and up the stairs of his hotel. I walked into the lobby and headed straight to reception, knowing I would have to check in seeing as it was the week of Coachella and I wasn't famous.

"Name?" The receptionist asked.

"Arabella Ashford. I'm just visiting a friend."

"Room number and name of your friend?" She responded in a monotone voice.

"Sam Kiszka. Room 323," I said, silently questioning why it mattered so much.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Kiszka is on our celebrity list. I can't let you up."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You could be a crazy fan for all I know. I can't let you up."

"Okay, but I'm not a crazy fan. I'm his best friend and I need to see him. I have picture proof if you want i-"

"It says here that unless you're Josh Kiszka, Jake Kiszka, Santana Gomez, or Daniel Wagner, you can't go up, okay?" She snapped, cutting me off. My chest hurt more than it had that entire day. How could he put Santana on the list and not me?

God, either I was crazy to think he actually cared about me, or some seriously fucked up shit was happening. Maybe it was both.

"Who made that list? That's bullshit," I said, matching her energy.

"His manager, I would assume. It was signed off by Santana Gomez," She blankly stated. I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what Santana was trying to do; knowing she was trying to force me out.

"Did someone say my name?" A high-pitched voice said from behind me. I turned around immediately, coming face-to-face with the devil reincarnated.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I groaned as Santana made her way over to me. Her insanely long brown hair swayed behind her, framing her perfect body with each click of her heels. Yeah, maybe she was physically perfect, but she was psychotic. One outweighs the other, and it's not looks.

"Hm, nope. It's really me," she snickered, "It's so nice to finally meet you, Arabella."

"Yeah," I sighed, ignoring her hand as she tried to shake mine, "Can you let me up or put me on the list or something? I really need to talk to Sam,"

"I can let you up, but he's not going to want to talk to you," she said, a menacing grin growing on her face.

"Santana, I don't have time for this. He's my best friend, you know that. I shouldn't have to ask your permission to see him, you don't own him," I sassed, remembering what Jake said.

"Right, but for whatever reason, he keeps coming back to me," she smirked.

"Santana, let me up right now. He's slowly killing himself and you're letting him!" I yelled, the stress of everything finally coming out.

"Wow, Bel, I'd be careful if I were you. The last time you yelled at a celebrity, you got fired from your fancy radio job. You should really watch your tone when you're talking to people like me," she mocked, fake pity in her eyes.

That's when it hit me; she didn't just threaten to have me fired, she actually did it. She's the reason I lost my job at NPR.

"Holy fuck, you're like, actually insane," I breathed, holding my hand over my mouth.

"Maybe..... Let her in, Rebecca. She's a friend," she said to the receptionist. Rebecca did just that, standing up and unlocking the glass doors to my right, and letting me in.

"Don't be disappointed if he doesn't want to see you, Bella. He's been really tired lately," Santana laughed, fully knowing that Sam's current state of being was entirely her fault. She offered a small, sassy wave to me before she walked away, not a flaw on her body or a falter in her step. I didn't take another second to think, practically running to the elevators.

Once I made it to the third floor I anxiously wandered my way down the hall, searching for the room that held Sam captive. It was already 6:15 and their show was at 7:00, so it was now or never.

"319, 320, 321," I said, reading the door numbers to myself as I searched for 323. I turned the corner to find one lone room at the very end of the corridor.

"323," I muttered, taking a deep breath as I walked up and gently knocked on the door.

"Sammy?" I asked after a few seconds of an absent response. The door swung open suddenly revealing a tall blonde girl. She pushed her way past me and walked down the hall without another glance at me, leaving the door ajar behind her. I reluctantly walked in, the smell of sex and shitty perfume-making me regret ever showing up.

"Sam?" I said, nearly sobbing at the sight of him.

"Hi, Bel."